The thing called hope lives in the very breath of a person with aphasia. In the early days of my own journey as a therapist, I came to believe hope was an enemy. It stood at the door, arms crossed, daring me to confront it with what I saw as the truth: that aphasia was a permanent disability, and not something that would disappear. What I failed to understand is that truth is not the enemy of hope. It is more like a mirror through which the aspirations of the person must travel until the images are in concert. And there is not a defined time frame for that. Perhaps it is a lifetime. Certainly, people with aphasia leave me often far before they can see that image clearly. And I have so many unfinished images I hold in memory, wondering if hope and truth are reconciled. Sometimes, I am lucky enough to witness that final connection. It is truly miraculous. I search for it in myself as well.

One Response to Any fool can get up each morning full of hope, it takes a human tower of emotional strength to go to bed that way at the end of the night. Paula Poundstone

Felicity: Thank you so much for your comments. I am excited to find that there is some qualitative research on the subject. I will definitely read your referenced articles. Congratulations on a marvelous professional pursuit.